Springeresque
by LyricalKris
Summary: Alice Brandon Whitlock is twenty-two years old and the story of her life already read like a tragedy- a tragedy worthy of the Jerry Springer show in its twists and turns. Charlie Swan's life was more sedate, but it hadn't always been. You never can tell how or when two souls will connect or what they can do for each other.
1. Chapter 1

**Dedication: To one of my favorite people, jessypt. My girl loves angst just as much as I do, and I love her even though she "made" me write Alice/Charlie. (Did she not understand how much she traumatized me by making me write Carlisle/Bella...ffs). Happy birthday, lovely.**

**A/N and Disclaimers: I am pretty sure if I was SM, I'd be fainting at the pairing alone. Holy hell. But then again, Charlie always did like Alice, didn't he? Heh. Anyway. This story is a bit heavy. As always, I don't do warnings, so if you have a question, please ask. I'll be happy to answer.**

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_**Prologue:**_

"My life is Springer worthy. Springer-esque sounds fancier, doesn't it?

"I witnessed my father murder my mother when I was three years old, a fact I repressed until I was eleven. My stepmother resented me. When I started to remember, I was so confused. She told me I was being insane, and my father, not wanting to get caught, let her believe it. Then he started to beat me, telling me I was crazy and I needed to keep my mouth shut.

"I believed them. For a long time, I believed them."

"When I was thirteen, my father left bruises on me that I couldn't hide. They took me away, and put me in foster care.

"The Cullens were good to me. Loving. Caring. They had two biological kids and two kids other people had fucked up. They were too good for me, but that didn't matter to them. Such good people. I wanted to be better for them. I wish I could have been.

"So there I was with Emmett and Edward Cullen and Jasper. Jasper Whitlock. My foster brother. Just as fucked up as I was, stuck in this idyllic little family who couldn't help the way they reminded us how well adjusted we weren't. Of course we fell in love. I married him the minute, the _minute_, I turned eighteen, and when we went to school, the idiot kids called us disgusting because it was incest. We didn't care. We were in love, and life was going to be better.

"And now, I'm twenty-two, and a widow."

Alice Whitlock looked up at him, her eyes wide and lost. "I'm twenty-two, and my biography would be as thick as the last Harry Potter book. I'm just…" She waved her hands in the air helplessly. "What do I do now?"

Charlie Swan watched as the young woman wandered away as if in a daze, his tongue still tied. Charlie didn't even know what to say when his eighteen-year-old daughter Bella was upset over a failed test. There they were, standing at her husband's early grave.

What was he supposed to say to any of that?

Bella came up to him and looped her arm through his. "Dad, can Alice stay with us for a while?"

Charlie cleared his throat, blinking down at his daughter. "What's wrong with Carlisle and Esme?"

"They're taking it hard. They loved him, too. She just… she's having a hard time being there. She can stay with me in my room. Is that okay?"

Charlie looked back to where the raven-haired woman was looking out toward the horizon, not really seeing anything. "Yeah, Bell," he said. "She can stay."

If it was the only thing he could do, he was damn sure going to do it.

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**A/N: I don't think this is going to be very long (don't I always say that). Many thanks to barburella and songster for stepping outside their comfort zones, and of course to jessypt since I asked her to beta her own fic. Hehehe**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Gorgeous banner by Mina Rivera. I love her work. Even when it gives me the heebiejeebies (I know I'm writing it, but SEEING it is...like.. *hides under the desk and rocks slowly back and forth*) ... Anyway. LOVELY. Love it. Love her. Love you alllllll.**

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Charlie had always liked Alice. He hadn't thought he would. In fact, when Bella started hanging around at the Cullen house, Charlie was naturally wary of the lot of them. Not only was she obviously falling for this kid, Edward, but she was fast becoming best friends with one of the Cullen's foster kids. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of his then seventeen-year-old daughter hanging out with a twenty-one-year-old misfit. The last thing he needed was for Bella to get the idea in her head that being married at eighteen was a good idea.

But Alice had proved him wrong. She was a good friend to Bella, and when she came over, she made the house brighter. Unlike the other young people Bella brought over on occasion, Alice seemed to think of him as a real person instead of a parental unit or worse, a cop. She was interesting and interested.

It got to the point Edward and Alice came over together.

"Is my daughter using you to get me not to complain about how much time she spends with your brother?" he'd asked once it dawned on him.

Alice had grinned and winked at him. "Don't worry, Charlie." She'd put her hands on his shoulders and leaned down so her voice was soft in his ear, her breath warm against his skin. "Don't tell him I said so, but Edward is one of the good ones. Bella's in good hands."

Now the troubled young woman was a ghost in his house. Of course he knew she was a foster child and their stories were rarely easy, but he couldn't wrap his head around how a person was supposed to survive the kind of tragedy she had, let alone in triplicate.

Most of his life, Charlie had been a heavy sleeper. Getting his six to eight hours of sleep only made sense. Even as a very young man, he wasn't one to challenge that system. He liked how he felt when his mind was clear. He could think better, function better. What could be bad about that?

That should have been his first clue that his relationship with Renee Higginbotham was ill advised at best. Everything about Renee was a whirlwind from the way she spoke-bouncing from one topic to the next with hardly a breath in between-to their relatively short-lived romance. She'd wrecked havoc on his sleep. He had never been more tired in all his life, but he'd also never been so enthralled, so impassioned, and in love.

But like a hurricane, when she left, taking their baby daughter with her, she left a wake of destruction and debris. Between the course of their relationship and the aftermath, Charlie didn't sleep well for several years.

Now he found himself restless again, awake and staring at the wall in the middle of the night. Irritated, he climbed out bed. There was nothing useful about being awake at two in the morning.

After another few minutes' deliberation he figured as long as he was up, he might as well get a sandwich out of the ordeal.

When he stepped out into the hallway, he paused. Bella's door was cracked open.

His daughter had gone back to school months before, but Alice stayed. Charlie couldn't say he understood. He knew the Cullens wanted nothing more than to help her. They were the nurturing type - exactly the kind of people who knew the right thing to do, the best way to offer comfort in any situation. But for whatever reason, Alice felt just a little bit better in Charlie's house instead of theirs. Maybe it was the memories. She and Jasper had both been loved and cherished there. Heck if Charlie understood what was going on in that head of hers. He missed her easy smile though. He missed the spark in her eyes when she was telling a story and the enthusiasm in her tone.

Charlie padded across the hall and peered around the corner of Bella's door carefully. It was dark and empty. When he looked downstairs he could see a light coming from the living room area. He tapped his fingers on the wall, wondering if he should retreat to his bedroom.

It was a silly, cowardly thing to think. First off, this was his house. There was no reason he should feel like a prisoner in his own house. For what reason? Because he was scared he'd go downstairs and Alice would be crying and he'd have to do something about it?

Shaking his head, Charlie headed down the stairs. He peeked around the corner of the landing and spotted Alice immediately. She wasn't crying. In fact, if anything, she looked curious. She was curled up in the window seat with only the small lamp above her lit. On her lap was…

A photograph album?

Charlie hardly recognized it. It had been a long time since there was film to develop and longer still since he'd owned a camera, digital or otherwise. Renee had given Bella a camera for her birthday senior year, but she rarely printed those photos out. They went straight to Facebook or whatever website that passed for a photo album these days. Hey, at least you couldn't lose those in a fire, he figured, even though he found the idea of putting private photos on the Internet for all to consume more than a little bizarre.

Charlie only owned one photo album. There were a few in a box in the attic, leftover relics from his parents, but there was only one album in the main part of the house. It was an album Charlie kept hidden away, and it hadn't seen the light of day since Bella was two years old.

He cleared his throat more out of habit than anything. It was a tactic he used both on his teenage daughter when she'd still been in his house and with people he caught breaking minor laws. Alice looked up, but she didn't look guilty. "Hey, Charlie. What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I'm snooping," she said, utterly unapologetic. "I found this in a drawer somewhere. It looks like no one has touched it in ages." She readjusted herself on the window seat so she was sitting up with her feet on the ground. "Come over here and give me some background."

Charlie hesitated. There was a good reason he'd hidden that album away. He wasn't even sure why he kept something that reminded him of everything he'd lost. But that had been years ago. Since then he'd gotten his daughter back. It was pathetic to feel so tangled up in knots about a few old photos, wasn't it?

He crossed the room and hesitated again when she patted the seat beside her. The space wasn't big, and Charlie wondered for a few seconds just how appropriate it was to sit so close. He wasn't used to sharing intimate space at all. Even when Bella lived with him, there was always enough room for both of them to have their own personal space and then some. In the end, though, he sat. Alice was an adult, and she obviously wasn't uncomfortable seeing as she was the one inviting him to sit down.

Alice wasted no time spreading the album over both their laps. She scooted even closer, so their legs were touching, and flipped to the first page. The first picture stung more than Charlie wanted it to. It was a picture of him and Renee at their senior prom. They looked happy and-

"You look so young. Like fourteen," Alice said. "You're just babies."

Charlie snorted. "We were both still seventeen though I think Renee turned eighteen a week later." He hesitated, but for some reason the words tumbled out anyway. "And as for babies, we were about to have one."

"Oh, wow. I didn't realize you were _so _young when you had Bella." She offered him a small smile, still just a ghost of the grin he was used to, and bumped his shoulder. "You're quite the spring chicken."

Charlie shook his head.

"So." Alice flipped a few more pages to where a now very pregnant Renee stood in the kitchen, the kitchen of this house, hands on her hips and paintbrush in her hand. "How did a snot-nosed kid end up with his own house?"

"My grandfather. He left me a small fortune when he died. It was supposed to pay for some fancy college, a trip to Europe, and then maybe, _maybe, _first and last month's rent on my first apartment far away from here. But I had a high school girlfriend who already wanted more than I could offer her. A house seemed like a good idea. Why not. I was already in over my head. I squeezed new dad, new husband, and first time homeowner into the same six month period."

Alice's breath caught, and when she looked up, there was pain in her eyes. "You got married when you turned eighteen, too?"

"That same day."

They both fell into a silence too heavy to be comfortable. Charlie wasn't sure what to do with it, what to say, or whether it was her sadness or his that made it so unbearable. He cleared his throat and started rambling. "It was a lot to handle. Even with the huge down payment, I still had the mortgage to consider. I had a job at Newton's just like Bella. It wasn't Newton's then, but you get the idea. I was going to school. I had already figured out there was a guaranteed job waiting for me at the station if I could get through my general ed and police academy training." He tapped the picture of his very pregnant wife. "I told Renee she could do whatever she wanted to the house."

Alice huffed. "That explains why the cabinets are yellow and green. They're horrible, you know. Both colors alone would be just… ugh. Together?" She shook her head.

Charlie had to smirk. He knew his cabinets were ugly, but there was a sense of fondness when he thought about them. Renee was nothing if not quirky. She saw the world differently than most, and he still admired that about her. "Renee always said she was trying to make the place brighter. I didn't much care what color my cabinets are so I let her do whatever made her happy." If only making her happy had been as simple as bright colored cabinets.

Alice hummed. "That was always going to fail."

It took Charlie a few seconds to figure out she wasn't talking about his marriage, though she could have been.

"You can't make a house bright with paint alone," Alice said. "Even paint needs light. The answer here is simple. You need a source of light that isn't the sun since we have no control of that here in Forks. You need lamps. Track lighting or, even better, recessed lighting."

She shifted so her back was against the wall of the window seat and she was facing him, her knee against his thigh. "Hey, so here's an idea. If you're interested, I could fix up your kitchen for you. We can do the whole nine - fix the cabinets and the lights. I can do all the work, even the electrical stuff."

Charlie tilted his head, taken aback. "You're a hairdresser. How does a hairdresser know how to do electrical work?"

Her expression was disparaging. "I'm a cosmetologist. Get it right. And that's not the only thing I want to do with my life. It was just easy. I had to be able to support myself while I figured out what I really wanted to do." She waved her hand. "Anyway. When I was a kid, Esme used to take me with her to all those home renovations she did. She said it was to keep me out of trouble." Alice rolled her eyes, but her look was fond. "It was actually all very interesting, and I learned a lot from her and the people she worked with. I learned how to do a lot of things including minor electrical work, which is all your kitchen would take. I'm not licensed or anything like that, but I could do it."

She was serious, he realized, and more than that, the more she talked about, the more excited she became.

"Charlie, it would be great. Just a little work could increase the value of your house. We could go to Olympia this weekend or even to Seattle if you wanted to drop in on Bella for a bit. It would be so much fun."

Charlie was a little bowled over. Was she really asking to do home renovations on his house? "I… I don't know. Why would you do that for me?"

"It'd be the least I can do. I've been here for too long without really pulling my weight."

"It's not like I mind the company. And you've cooked a lot. And bought groceries."

Alice dropped her gaze. "I just… The shop doesn't keep me busy enough. It would be nice to have something to do. A project to work on. To keep me distracted." She raised her head and tried for a smile. "And really, those cabinets are hideous. At least let me redo those… but I really think you should let me work with the lighting. I'll even help out on the cost since it was my idea. Please?"

There was a spark of life in her big brown eyes that he hadn't seen in too many months. How could he say no to that? "Alright. Fine. If that's what you really want."

Alice squeaked in pleasure and threw her arms around his neck. "You're the best, Charlie."

He chuckled, squeezing her awkwardly. "Don't see how you figure that, but I'll take it."

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**A/N: So thanks to everyone who's giving this a shot. Many thanks to my jessypt who is always pushing my boundaries. I usually don't regret it. Usually.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello, lovelies! Happy Mother's Day to most of you, including my lovely jessypt and my beautiful songster.**

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When Charlie got home the day before their Seattle trip, he thought at first the house was empty. Then he heard a muffled voice coming from the direction of the garage. "Charlie? Is that you?"

Alice started talking, yelling through the door, before he got close, so most of what he heard was garbled words in a tone of mock-grave admonishment. A smile tugged at his lips. She was a quirky thing. She tended to start a conversation in the middle.

He opened the garage door just in time. Alice, already coming toward him, caught her foot on a stack of junk in the middle of the floor. She pitched forward with a little yelp, and Charlie surged forward to catch her. Alice huffed with the impact, her hands braced on his waist. She blinked sporadically, startled.

"You all right?" Charlie asked.

Her eyes met his. "Yeah." She narrowed her eyes at him. "This is exactly what I'm talking about." She smacked his chest with a light hand. "You have things in little piles everywhere. It gives the impression of neatness, but there's no sense of order to it."

She lingered another moment in silence, and Charlie blinked, startled at the change in the air. Why hadn't he let her go yet? He cleared his throat and took a step back, his hand falling away. "Well, uh. I've never had problem finding what I need."

At that, she grinned and stepped over to a pile, beginning to rummage. "You could do so much with this space. Maybe that'll be our second project. After the kitchen. It wouldn't take long to organize this place. A few hooks and you can have your poles up on the wall nice and neat instead of leaning in a heap. Then a wall of cork board for all your...uh..." She wrinkled her nose and leaned over to pluck something out of a pile. "What the hell is this?"

Charlie's cheek twitched. She was holding the thing at arm's length, pinched between her fingers with a look of disgust. "It's a fishing hat"

"It's a monstrosity." She studied it with a dubious expression. "This is like… sheik of the desert." She pulled at the long flaps that hung down around the sides and back of the thing.

"It's meant to keep the sun off your neck-keep you might come as a shock, but some things are more functional than pretty."

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow, her expression cool. "This might come as a shock to _you_, but it's possible to be both functional _and _pretty." She pushed up onto her tiptoes and settled the hat on his head, smoothing the flaps over his ears. She pursed her lips, amused.

Charlie hadn't ever thought to feel silly in his hat-it was a practical thing and most fishermen he knew used them-but he was strangely self-conscious then. But then Alice grinned. "It suits you," she said.

"Well, color me relieved."

She chuckled and turned on her heel. "Anyway, one project at a time. I'm trying to figure out what tools you have in case we need to buy any, but I can't find them in all this clutter."

Charlie flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "The clutter really doesn't make a difference. You can't find something that isn't there."

Alice stopped her rummaging and turned to stare at him. "What?"

"I have almost no tools."

"How is that possible? Even I have a toolbox. In my closet at home, next to all the spangly, pretty things I sew on my clothes is my toolbox."

Charlie grimaced. "I have a hammer and a wrench. I'm pretty sure I have pliers." She was still staring. "I'm sure there are nails. I remember Bella told me one summer I had to have them in jars like Jake's dad." He pointed. "They're over there."

All at once, Alice's incredulous stare turned into a giggle and the giggle tumbled headlong into a full on belly laugh. Then she was laughing. Hard. One arm wrapped around her middle because she couldn't seem to stop. Charlie was flabbergasted-just what the hell was so damn funny-but at the same time, he couldn't help his smile. It had been so long since he'd heard this woman laugh. It was a good sound, a happy sound.

He liked it. But he still didn't understand.

"I'm sorry, Charlie." She sat down heavily atop his large ice chest, her arms still wrapped around her middle as she tittered and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I don't know why it struck me as so funny. It was just the way you said it. You have nails in a jar." She giggled again. "And then I just pictured you trying to put together a new kitchen with a few nails and a hammer. How on earth do you keep the house in order without tools?"

Charlie put his hands on his hips, hoping his expression was more stern than sheepish. "I need something fixed, I get one of the delinquent kids to do it as part of a… uh, a plea bargain, I guess."

Her eyebrows shot up and he realized how that sounded. "Not like that. Nothing official. Nothing big. They're just kids I found doing something stupid. The kinds of things that are relatively harmless but can escalate, you know? Most kids, you let them off with a warning and they learn their lesson, but some of them needed more. A distraction that wasn't destructive. I did it a lot with kids who were starting to run with the wrong crowd. When I could catch it, you know. "

Alice cocked her head. "Really?"

He shrugged. "I was never really good at fixing things around the house. A lot of those kids are. It helps sometimes. They have something productive to do with their time. They make an honest buck, and my porch gets repaired or whatever. Or I might let them give me an oil change. Depends on what they're good at and if they're receptive. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn't, but there you go."

Her smile was huge. "Well, that's sweet. Look at you. Reforming delinquent kids. It's no wonder you get along with Mom and Dad."

"So what is it you need anyway?"

"Oh, you know. Standard stuff. Drills. Saws."

"Saws?"

"Yeah. Not the old fashioned kind. The kind with batteries. How else do you expect me to cut into the ceiling?"

Now it was Charlie's turn to stare in shock. For some reason, someone as small as Alice handling anything that could cut into his ceiling didn't compute. Rationally he knew this was ridiculous. He knew the kind of saw Alice meant, and there was no reason she wouldn't be able to handle such a thing. Still, the young woman drew out a protective streak in him.

"I see that worried face," Alice said. "I'm not Bella. That girl is always a bit spaced out. I love that about her. She's creative, like my brother. They're always lost in their heads. _Thinking._ Which has its perks, but I guess it makes concentrating on sharp objects a bit of a challenge. Me? I don't have that problem. I've never had a single stitch. Did you know that?"

For a moment, just a moment, Charlie thought he saw something dark and pained flash through her eyes. But when he looked again, studying her more carefully, her features eased. "Not one stitch, huh?"

"Nope."

Charlie grunted and toed a spot on the floor. "Well, it can't all be the spacing out thing. Bella's careful enough when she needs to be. Might be bad genetics." He offered her his hand, spreading his thumb and finger wide so she could see the thick scar there.

Alice whistled. She reached out to stroke the small but thick knot of scarred skin there. There was a strange, fascinated reverence to her touch. "How the hell did you do that?"

"Talent." He rolled his eyes. "Shop class. The very first day."

"You don't even do a project the first day."

"Like I said. Talent." Charlie's lips quirked up despite his embarrassment. "Makes you wonder who thought it was a good idea to give me a gun, huh?"

He was rewarded with a warm chuckle. "Terrifying thought. But that explains the lack of tools in the house. You would have lost all your fingers by now. Don't worry. Mom has what we need as far as tools go. I'll raid the garage."

"Mhmm." Charlie stroked at his chin wondering if he was overstepping his boundaries with his next words. "Seems like this is a pretty big project."

She shrugged. "Bigger than some."

"I still think you're crazy for doing this for me, but seeing as you're set on it, it seems like the kind of thing your mother might like to help you with."

At that Alice stayed quiet. She looked down, busying herself by picking a few random things up and setting them down again. After a few moments of this she spoke softly. "She would." After another beat, she looked up and gave him a small smile. "Maybe I'll call her."

_**~0~**_

"What is it with you and Bella and ancient trucks?" Alice asked when they got on the road to Seattle the next day.

Charlie glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. "My truck was born in the 90's. Hers was born before I was. Not even close to the same thing."

"True." She poked at the dials and shook her head. "Oh, well. I came prepared." She took a squareish device out of her purse and clipped it to the overhead mirror. "Bluetooth speaker. Now we won't be subjected to the radio."

"Obviously that would be chaos."

She gave him a look but then turned back to her phone to scroll through her music.

Charlie had been nervous about this drive. It was several hours from Forks to Seattle, and he wondered if Alice would fill the silence by talking about things Charlie didn't know how to handle. After all, she wasn't what anyone could call recovered from the loss of her husband some five months before.

It went beyond those five months. Death was never easy. Expected or not, young or old, it was never easy. Yet for Alice, the horror of losing her husband at the mind-boggling young age of twenty-two had been multiplied several-fold by the process of his death. He'd been in a horrific car accident, but there was no easy death there. He'd hung on, or at least, he'd appeared to. He would crash then stabilize. Something would go wrong, some part of his body would give out, and then it would get better.

Eventually, the emergencies petered out, and Jasper merely seemed to sleep. The doctors predicted he would wake from his coma. They gave Alice and the rest of the family various statistics, other cases. Eventually, though, they declared him brain dead, and Alice was faced with the horrible decision of whether or not to remove him from life support.

Alice had signed the paperwork five months before, but her husband had been lost to her for nearly nine months.

She would turn twenty-three in another couple of weeks. It would mark the first birthday without Jasper in eleven years. It was also her fifth wedding anniversary. Five days after that would mark Jasper's twenty-fourth birthday.

Charlie had lunch or dinner with Carlisle and Esme Cullen at least once a week. Despite their best efforts, Alice was distant with them, and they worried. Of course they worried. There was plenty to worry about. Far be it from Charlie to dictate how anyone should go about grieving, but despite her mild despondence, it seemed to Charlie there had to be something bigger on the horizon. It was a feeling he got, a gut instinct, and it was one the Cullens shared.

Esme had wondered if Alice stayed because she felt a kinship with Charlie. Alice had to talk to someone at some point. Why not Charlie?

Charlie had a few very good arguments in the why not Charlie camp, but what could he do about that? It wasn't as though he was going to turn the young woman away if she needed help. He supposed he would figure something out if the time ever came. In the meantime, yeah, he was nervous about it.

But the car ride was better than uneventful, it was nice. It wasn't long before Charlie forgot there was supposed to be something wrong. They bonded over music-she had eclectic taste that included many of the bands he'd listened to when he was in high school-and segued naturally onto other topics, none of them very deep. It was enjoyable to the point Charlie started when he realized the ferry was so close.

He was almost sad that the drive was over.

On the ferry, he offered to get them coffee. When he got back to the table he'd left her at, Alice was nowhere to be seen. He waited a minute, thinking she might have gone to the restroom, but when she didn't reappear, he went looking.

There weren't many places she could be on the ferry, so he found her fairly easily. She was at the back, outside. It was a weird place to be. Seattle was rarely warm in the depths of summer. It was the dead of winter now. It wasn't raining, but it was freezing outside.

"Alice?" he called as he stepped out into the bitter cold.

She didn't answer. She was standing, staring out at the rapidly approaching Seattle skyline with a far off, somewhat tortured expression on her face. He didn't have to read minds to know she had to have been thinking about Jasper. Doubtless the last time she'd been to Seattle had been with him.

Charlie hadn't ever lost anyone the way she'd lost her husband, but he knew what it was like when every road, every store, every restaurant was haunted with memories of things that were out of his reach.

He hesitated, but then he put a hand to her shoulder to get her attention. She jumped and sucked in a breath. It was hard to tell if she'd been crying. Her cheeks were bitten red by the cold, and her eyes were half-closed against the wind.

"You're going to turn into an icicle out here." He forced himself to keep his tone light.

"Oh," she said quietly. She blinked and then shivered as though she had only just noticed the cold.

He recognized the expression on her face. It was close to the look of people at the scene of an accident. Shock, he would have said if he didn't know better. It wasn't shock, under the circumstances he didn't see how it could have been, but it had to be something similar. She was spaced out in the same way victims of shock could get. Her eyes weren't focused at all, and though her teeth began to chatter violently, she still made no move to leave.

This he could handle. He didn't hesitate. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her inside. He guided her to the nearest plastic chair. He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over her and told her to sit tight. He was back another minute later with fresher, hotter coffee which he put into her hands and wrapped her fingers around.

"Drink," he said as he sat down beside her.

She closed her eyes and drank.

When she opened them again, she looked to him, her expression furtive. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for." He shifted his weight and wondered for the millionth time in his life how some people knew how to do this… when it was okay to ask and when it wasn't. What if his assumption was wrong? He could possibly be adding to her stress. "Was it Jasper?" he asked finally.

She let out a long breath, looking out the window. "Yes."

When she didn't elaborate, he huffed. "You know… I'm not… Well, I'd have to say I'm not the best person with all this. I'd probably stick my foot in my mouth more than once, but… I'd listen. You know. If you needed...wanted to talk. You can."

She looked up then through red-rimmed eyes and smiled. It was a weak smile, like before, but genuine. She surprised him by wrapping her arm around him and laying her head on his shoulder. "Not today," she said.

She didn't move again until they had to get back to the car. Mostly, Charlie figured she needed his warmth. That he could definitely give.

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**A/N: Poor songser. I know some of you think my suffering whilst writing these PAIRINGS THAT SHOULD NOT BE are hilarious. You should see my notes. You have songster twitching in the corner while jessypt pets her and tells her it's okay, just relax and go with it.**

**Thanks to my girls. I love you. And thanks to all of you. How are we feeling thus far?**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Ha. I am at school. Not particularly happy about it. Rawrawrawrawr.**

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"This is not a good idea. Why did you tell me you told Bella we were coming?"

Alice looked over her shoulder in mild exasperation. "Because I knew you were going to call her and ruin my fun. You expect me to pass up the chance of a lifetime? I think not."

"What chance? A chance for what?"

"To catch Bella doing something naughty, of course."

Charlie blanched, but he tried to cover up how much that idea terrified him. "That's your chance of a lifetime? Honey, you've got to set your sights a bit higher."

She smirked and beckoned. "I'm still not passing. Come on."

"This is a bad idea."

Alice walked back and took him by the hand. "Her roommate is a preacher's daughter. How much trouble could she possibly be getting into?"

"I'm not an idiot. She's away from home, and her boyfriend goes to the same school. I know how that equation works."

Alice's eyes went wide in an expression of mock-scandal. "Charlie, you have such a filthy mind." She put a hand to her chest. "Bella is my very best friend. Are you insinuating we might catch such a young, innocent flower in a…" She gasped for effect. "Compromising position?"

Charlie swayed on his feet, feeling ill at the thought. Alice laughed and tugged his hand. "We'll be fine. The most we're going to walk in on is Bella smoking a bit of weed."

She ignored his startled whine of protest as she pushed the door of Bella's dorm room open, dragging Charlie in behind her.

At first, he was sure his worst nightmare was realized. He got an eyeful of some guy's naked ass as he pumped away. Charlie caught a glimpse of brown hair before he could avert his eyes.

Predictable chaos ensued. There were shouts of protest from both Charlie and Alice. The two in the bed squeaked, cursed, and scrambled. The blankets rustled in their attempt to get covered. Charlie, who hadn't let go of Alice's hand, dragged her back into the hallway and slammed the door closed.

Alice slapped her palm against the door. "Sock on the doorknob!" she called through the wood. "You put a sock on the doorknob. That's College 101. You need a system. Agh." She dug her fists into her eyes. "What is seen cannot be unseen. Scrawny boy butt. Ew."

She was a sight. Her cheeks were bright red with embarrassment. She bounced from foot to foot as she yelled at the closed door. The sight combined with Charlie's utter relief at his last glimpse of the couple-who were most certainly _not _Bella and Edward-was too much. He started to laugh. He knew his face was as red as Alice's. She turned her glare from the door to him, her hands on her hips and her lips pursed. Charlie only laughed harder.

"Charlie," she said, making the word a drawn out whine. "It's not funny."

"Oh yes…" He gasped. "Oh yes it is." His words dissolved into his chuckles, and he had to wrap an arm around his middle, bending at the waist as he did. "You...you… This is what you...wanted."

"I just wanted to surprise Bella. I didn't think anyone would be doing _that._ They're supposed to have a sock on the door," she repeated.

Of course, her protests made it worse. His eyes watered and his chest ached, but he couldn't stop. She growled but then she giggled. It was a small laugh at first, but it got louder as his laughing sickness proved to be infectious.

Charlie leaned against the wall for support, and she joined him. "Stop," she said, her voice strained between titters. "Stop laughing." She sucked in a breath while she could. "You're making me… making me…Just stop."

"I ca...I can't."

They both devolved again, each of them setting the other off. Chalie slumped down further on the wall until he was sitting and bowed his head. Alice slid down with him and muffled her laughter against his shoulder.

After another minute, they were finally coming down. Their breaths were ragged, interrupted every now and again by a stray giggle or a hiccup. Some small part of Charlie felt so stupid. He had to look ridiculous. Here he was, a grown man, sitting on the floor in a dorm hallway, panting and giggling his fool head off. Some of the passing kids were staring, but Charlie couldn't say he really cared. Hearing Alice laugh again, like she did when he told her about his lack of tools, was more than enough to make a little embarrassment worth it. She was pressed against his side, her body shaking occasionally with residual mirth, and he was glad she felt good, even if it was only for a few minutes.

The door beside them opened, and Angela Weber peered out. Her eyes were wide and scared behind her glasses. Behind her was a passive-looking, dark-haired boy about her same age. "Chief Swan," she said, her voice a squeak. "And Alice. Hi, Alice."

"Hey, Angela."

Charlie got to his feet, helping Alice up as he did. "Hello, Angela."

"I, um… I'm sorry? About…" She gestured helplessly at the room.

"That wasn't your fault." Charlie's cheeks heated again. "We, uh… We should have knocked." He glanced out of the side of his vision at Alice. "Or called ahead."

"You're not going to tell my dad, are you?" Angela asked, blurting the words so fast, it took Charlie a few extra seconds to untangle them in his head.

He huffed, looking down at his feet so he wouldn't start laughing again. "None of my business." Like he was going to tell the good reverend he'd walked into his daughter's room while she'd been undoubtedly naked and screwing her boyfriend. That wasn't a conversation that was going to happen ever.

Angela sagged against the door and looked over her shoulder at the boy. "Um. This is Ben. Ben, this is Charlie Swan. He's Bella's dad. And this is Alice Whitlock."

Ben nodded. "Sir," he said to Charlie, his voice threatening to pitch up into higher octaves. He cleared his throat and looked at Alice. "Ma'am."

"Ma'am? Ma'am? Oh, hell no." Alice squared her shoulders. "Okay, sonny, you asked for it." She crossed her arms and started firing off questions. She asked Ben about his intentions with Angela, if he'd brought protection, if he was sure he knew how to use it right. She didn't give him a chance to answer, she just kept asking more, all the while beginning to encroach on his personal space.

In no time flat, Alice had the poor freshman sputtering. He looked like he was about to cry. Taking pity on the boy, Charlie put his hand on Alice's shoulder, halting her tirade. "Where's Bella?" he asked Angela.

Pale as a sheet but a lot calmer than her bedmate-she knew Alice after all-Angela cleared her throat so she could answer. "She's probably out front. She and Edward like to, uh… study there."

"Thanks," Charlie said, steering Alice away from Ben. "Sorry again."

Once outside, Alice broke into a fresh, although not hysterical, wave of giggles. "That was fantastic."

"Sure. Fantastic. If fantastic is synonymous with horrifying, let's go with that. I've never been so glad I don't go to church. I don't know if I'll ever be able to look her father in the eyes again."

Alice tugged at his sleeve. "Come on, Charlie. When was the last time you laughed like that?"

"Can't say. I don't remember."

She smiled at him, but then her eyes caught something behind his back and her expression brightened. "Oh, look. There's Bella."

Charlie looked and instantly wished he hadn't. His daughter was sitting on a bench near the opposite side of the building with Edward at her side. He could see she had a textbook on her lap, but she was ignoring it in favor of making out with her boyfriend. "Ah, hell."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of this. Looks like I might get my moment after all."

With that, she dashed away, sticking to the side of the building as best she could. She crept carefully and snuck behind the bench. She leaned in close, close, closer to the amorous couple.

When they finally figured out she was there, Charlie heard Bella yelp from where he was standing. He shook his head but smiled at the sight. This was the Alice he'd known not so long ago: mischievous and happy. He hoped it was a sign she was healing, but what did he know? He could only be glad she was still capable of this kind of levity.

Shaking that off, he went to greet his daughter.

_**~0~**_

Charlie glanced over as Bella fell into step beside him. He nodded ahead of them to where Alice was staring at light fixtures, occasionally shoving boxes into Edward's arms so she could compare and contrast. "She's a whirlwind," Charlie said.

Bella snorted. "And she's going to get Esme in on all this. You're so screwed, Dad. You're not even going to recognize the kitchen by the time they're done."

"It's just a kitchen, and it's been almost nineteen years. It's time for a change."

"Oh, really? This from the same guy who refuses to buy digital movies even though your TV plays them, and all because DVDs still exist? Not even BluRay, but DVD."

"See now, there's change and there's unnecessary change. You should be able to touch your movies and your books for that matter."

Bella rifled through her purse and held up her tablet. "I'm carrying like three hundred books, fifteen movies, and all nine seasons of Supernatural with me."

"You can't read three hundred books at once. Not even you, bookworm."

"That's not the point."

"Well, when I see the point of needing all my movies on some database god only knows where that I can't even see, I'll let you know. Alice, on the other hand, made a completely reasonable point about adding value to the house. _This _change makes sense."

Bella cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you planning on selling off my inheritance then?"

That caught him off guard. "I… no, but-"

She laughed. "Kidding, Dad. Jeez."

"Hey, Charlie." Alice bounded over and sidled up to him. "Check it out. I've narrowed it down to two choices, though we can keep looking if you don't like them, of course." She had a box in one arm and gestured to Edward who was patiently holding up another. Both boxes held lights-that much Charlie could tell. To him, though, there seemed to be very little difference.

"You'd know better than I would. Which would fit in the kitchen you're leaving me with?" he asked.

She visibly struggled to temper an impatient look. "They'd both work, of course. That's why I'm showing you two options instead of twenty. This isn't about function. They'll light the kitchen beautifully. This is the fun part. This is about the aesthetics. One day, you want to be able to lean back against the counter in your awesome new kitchen, look up and think, 'Man, i just _love _that light."

Charlie stared at her, bemused.

"Alice, normal people don't spend much time staring at their ceiling," Edward said.

She rolled her eyes and pointed to the box her brother held. "The one Edward has is straight, narrow, and predictable." She eyed her brother significantly. He just shook his head. "And don't get me wrong. There's a lot to be said for smooth and steady. It's a fine way to go."

"But," Charlie prompted.

Alice jiggled the box she held. "This one is just a little sassy."

"Are we still talking about lights?" Bella murmured under her breath.

Ignoring her, Alice continued. "There's a swivel to the mount, see? It draws the eye, and the cone is rounded more oblong. Same function, just a little more fun to look at. You know, if you're into that kind of thing."

Charlie still had no idea what he was supposed to like or dislike about either set. A light was light. He wouldn't have been able to describe a single lamp in the home he'd lived in for nineteen years; he could pretty much guarantee Edward was right. He'd never spend time staring at the ceiling.

"Just go with your gut," Alice said.

His gaze locked with hers. He reached out and tapped the box she held without saying a word. She grinned and gave a celebratory little jump. "Great. See, that wasn't hard." She put the box in the cart and turned to her brother. "Put that one back. We have glass to look at next."

"Wait, why are we looking at glass?" Charlie asked.

Alice's expression was the picture of innocence. "We-ll," she said, drawing the word out. "I was just thinking, you know what would be really lovely? Glass cabinets." Charlie's eyebrows shot up, and Alice raised her hands in a peacemaking gesture. "Hear me out. They can make even a small kitchen like yours look elegant. I'm going to price it first, and if it's out of our budget, that's it. I'm not going to drive you into the poor house, but if it's reasonable, it would be lovely. Plus-"

Then it was Charlie raising his hands to stop her defense. "I trust you. Let's get it done."

Alice grinned, pleased. She bounced on her feet and hurried off without further prompting.

"You're having fun."

Charlie looked at Bella as they followed Alice at a less enthusiastic pace. "What?"

"You're having fun with Alice. I've been worried you might think she was annoying. I love Alice, but she can be intense."

"She's easy."

Bella looked happy. "Maybe this is one of those things that works out even better than expected. I was afraid you'd be lonely when I went to school, but this works. Alice seems better, and you're getting along. Who knew you would do so well with a roommate."

"Roommate." The word felt off somehow, incongruous with what Alice was to him. Strictly speaking it fit, so he shrugged. "I like her. She's not you, but she'll do." He winked and Bella smiled.

"We should hurry before she gets anymore bright ideas. What did I tell you? You're so screwed."

Charlie scoffed. "Yeah, well, what can you do?"

* * *

**A/N: Let's all send jessypt get well soon vibes! She is under the weather but she still looked at this for me. Much heart.**

**How we doing out there, folks? I know the updates are shortish. I predict they'll get longer in the near future. Bwah haha.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hola, cats and kittens. Let's see what these kids are up to.**

* * *

By the next weekend, Charlie's kitchen was a disaster zone. He'd been told to keep out early in the morning, but curiosity got the best of him. When Alice took off on a supply run, he snuck in to take a look.

It was as though a tornado had struck. All his dishes were out, stacked in haphazard towers in the far corner and all over the table. Wood, the wood of the cabinets, was scattered about the floor in splintered green, yellow, and brown.

"She had a little too much fun ripping the doors off the hinges."

Startled, Charlie swung around to see Esme coming in from the garage. She had a mask on which she pulled down to smile at him.

"I thought you went with Alice," he said.

"Well, I tried." Her eyes were warm and an affectionate smile tugged at her lips. "I was instructed to finish the final coat of stain on the new cabinets. It's going to take all of today to dry and then the glue for the glass will take another day to set. We're running behind schedule, so the foreman didn't think I should be riding shotgun when there was so much work to be done."

"Behind schedule?" Charlie shook his head. "There's no rush. It's not like I use the kitchen much anyway."

"Alice runs on her own schedule. She gets very intense about it."

"Bossy. I think the word you're looking for is bossy," he said with a smile, so she would know he was teasing.

Esme nodded. "She's so excited about all this, and she wants it to be perfect for you."

"It, uh…" He looked around the space, hands on his hips. "I'm sure it'll be great."

She clucked. "It's a mess now, but I guarantee she has a vision in her head that'll make it look like a kitchen from a magazine. This is good. This is so good for her. I don't know how to thank you."

"There's nothing to thank me for."

"No, there is." She tilted her head. "Alice is an incredible girl, woman. She's… I don't know. She carries so much pain with her. Too much. She's so strong that it's easy to think she's fine, but she's not. I know she's not. She hasn't been fine since Jasper's accident.

"Believe it or not, all this is helping. I don't know if you see it, but I do. She's always a little… strange. Not in a bad way, of course, but sometimes, even when she's interacting with you, you can tell her mind is somewhere else. She was getting better at that. When she was with Jasper, she was better at being in the moment, but since the accident, she's worse than she ever was." Esme looked up at Charlie and gestured around them. "Today, right now, she's here. She's grounded. She's present in every moment. _With _me."

Charlie cleared his throat, not sure what to say to that. He hadn't agreed to this because he was trying to be emotionally sensitive to Alice. She'd asked, and he hadn't seen a reason to say no. It seemed to make her happy- enough said. "How are you doing with everything, anyway?" he asked Esme, changing the subject ever so slightly. "I'm sorry I haven't asked. Alice lost her husband, but you lost your son. I can't imagine. If it were Bella…" He couldn't finish. The thought alone made him shudder.

Pain flashed through Esme's eyes, and she looked away. "It's nice, in a way, to hear you say that. A lot of people don't quite understand. They don't think Jasper was ever mine. He was though. Alice and Jasper, they're my kids. I don't know if Alice has ever accepted that, and I suppose I'll never be sure if Jasper did."

She took a deep breath and looked up at Charlie. "I miss him. Every day, I miss him. I don't know that it's getting easier so much much as I'm getting used to breathing with perforated lungs."

It wasn't remotely the same, so Charlie didn't say so, but he understood what Esme was talking about. After all, once upon a time, he'd lost his wife and baby daughter. Even now, though his daughter was closer to him than ever, the memory of that time made him flinch. "I can't imagine," he said instead.

Esme reached out to pat his shoulder. "I hope you never have to. I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

The heavy moment was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. They both looked up as Alice came in, her arms laden with bags. She stopped short when she saw Charlie. Her eyes narrowed, and she set her bags on the floor so she could put her hands on her hips. "Did I not tell you to stay out of here?"

Charlie mimicked her posture, adding the head tilt he used when he pulled people over. "Did you know, statistically speaking, cops have problems with authority figures."

They stared at each other with stern expressions. Alice cracked first and grinned. "Well, who am I to boss around an officer of the law? If you insist on being obstinate, you can at least make yourself useful and go get the rest of the bags from the car."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, winking at her when she glared at the title. He was out the door before she could find the right words to protest.

_**~0~**_

What had been an amusing quirk quickly became a problem. Alice wouldn't let go of the idea she was on a deadline. Everyday, when Charlie left for work, she was already awake sanding or drilling or cutting. Most days she had a shift at the salon, but when she came home, she was right back to it.

The first few days, Charlie was able to coax her out of the house in the evenings long enough for a meal. but she got more and more reluctant as the week went on. By Thursday, all he got was a distracted, "Go on without me. I'll get something later."

Saturday Esme was back. She stayed most the day, but when she left, Alice was still in the kitchen. She was still there when Charlie fell asleep in the armchair in front of the TV, and she was still there when he woke up in the small hours of the morning.

"Okay, I'm issuing an executive order as chief of police," Charlie said as he came into the kitchen. "Time to-"

He cut off when he saw Alice was sitting on the floor, crying. It wasn't any ordinary weeping either. This was something more, something very wrong.

In a way, Charlie was much better at dealing with a crisis situation than he would have been if Alice were merely crying. And that was very much what this was: a crisis. He knew how to be calm in a stressful situation.

His training kicked in as he went to her side. The first order of business was to assess the victim. Alice was in a state, but she wasn't injured that he could see. She was clawing somewhat mindlessly at what looked like a chunk of one of the lower cabinets, trying to fit a broken hinge to the splintered side. She was sobbing. It was a soft but hysterical sound.

Charlie knelt down in front of her, calling her name.

"I broke it," she said. She didn't look at him. "I broke it. I broke it."

The way she kept grabbing at the wood made his stomach twist. She didn't look to be hurt, but that could change really quick with how rough she was being. "Alice." He caught her by the wrists, stilling her hands. "Hey. Hey, listen to me. Look at me."

She raised her eyes to him, but they were wide and unfocused. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened." Her voice was tremulous and thin as she spoke in a ramble. "My hands were shaking, and I drilled a hole. I missed. I tried to fix it. I tried, but a piece broke off. It's broken."

"Hey, shhh. Shh." Charlie sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She was trembling. Her skin was cool to the touch. He released her long enough to shrug out of his robe and wrap it around her shoulders. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, trying to warm her. "It's okay. It's fine. Just breathe. Calm down."

She turned her face into his neck and cried quietly. He could feel her tears hot against his skin. Minutes passed but she eventually calmed. Her tears and the subsequent hiccups subsided, and she raised her head. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

When she made a move to wipe at her eyes, he caught her by the arm. "Hold on. You might have splinters. You don't want to scratch your own eyes out." He cupped her face, wiping away her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

Alice blinked, and Charlie was suddenly aware of how close she was and that his touch was more intimate than was probably appropriate. He dropped his hands and scooted a small distance away from her. "Try again," he said to distract himself from the moment of discomfort. "What happened?"

"Um. I was drilling. I mean." She sniffled. "I was screwing in the hinge. So simple. I've done it a bunch of times with the other doors, but I couldn't hold the drill steady. I messed everything up."

"Oh, I think that's a slight exaggeration," he said, glancing around at the mostly finished cabinets above them. He dropped his gaze to eye her. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

Alice scrunched her nose. "Uh?"

"Uh huh. That's what I thought." He stood up, and helped her to her feet. "Sit down at the table and see if you have any splinters. I'll make you a sandwich."

"You don't have to do that."

He raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Turkey or ham?"

She sighed but she smiled. "Both."

"Good girl."

The next few minutes passed in companionable silence. Charlie cleared a space on the counter and assembled sandwiches while Alice examined her hands. When she'd cleared herself as fit for duty, she got up and heated two mugs of milk for hot chocolate.

As Charlie set two plates showing off his impressive sandwich making skills on the table, Alice poured a generous shot of whiskey into each of their mugs. Charlie smirked, but he didn't argue.

As they sat down to eat, he was distracted for a time, deep in thought about what Alice's fit had truly been about-people got upset over inconsequential things all the time didn't they-and if he should do anything else for her. Tell her mother perhaps?

When he realized too many minutes of silence had gone by to be polite, he turned back only to find Alice just as distracted as he'd been. She was staring at her hand, and when he followed her gaze, he could see she was fixated on a drop of blood that had welled up from a small cut just below her knuckle. In all fairness, it was a strangely beautiful, if macabre sight. The drop was perfectly spherical, its crimson shade a stark, almost lovely, contrast on her skin.

Charlie put his sandwich down. An uncomfortable, eerie feeling had begun to curl and twist in his gut, the touch of it as cold as ice.

His hand darted out with a sharpness that caught them both by surprise. He covered the droplet with a napkin. Alice gasped, but her eyes remained stuck to the spot. The napkin, a white paper napkin, blossomed a blood red flower at its center. Charlie folded the napkin, obscuring the blood once and for all, and Alice finally looked up. "I, uh… Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he said, pulling back.

She took a tentative if awkward bite of her sandwich and cleared her throat. Then she nodded at the cabinet. "I'm sorry about that. Really."

"It's not a big deal."

"There are holes in the wood," she said with a dissatisfied scowl.

"Well, you're the expert here, but I'd venture to guess you're not the first person to ever punch holes where they don't belong. It's fixable, isn't it?"

"It is, but I need something from not-Forks."

"No problem. We can go as far as Seattle if you need. It's Sunday."

Alice cocked her head. "I thought you were going fishing."

He shrugged. "The fish will be there next week."

"We-ll," she said, drawing out the word. "If it's really no trouble, we don't have to go anywhere near Seattle. Port Angeles will do."

Charlie nodded. "Then it's settled." He looked around his kitchen and smiled. "Holes aside… this all looks really good so far."

She brightened noticeably and sat up straighter. "You're beginning to see what I'm doing here?"

"You know me. I don't have the eye for the finer things, but I think it's really great."

Her grin was radiant, and her eyes, dulled before, sparked over her mug of chocolate. "Thanks, Charlie."

* * *

**A/N: Mew! Many thanks to my jessypt. I love her notes. Heheh.**

**How we doing out there, folks? Personally, I'm still not over getting up at 6:20 to go to work. PAH.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Happy Saturday!**

* * *

Charlie was drunk.

He was the kind of guy who enjoyed beer with his dinner and another when he watched TV. When he was out fishing with his friends, he drank enough to get a healthy buzz going. But Charlie didn't like being drunk.

Drunk Charlie was one morose bastard. When he got drunk, he tended to dwell on things that didn't matter, things he couldn't help. Drunk Charlie reopened the wounds that his wife had left when she breezed out the door, taking their one-year-old daughter with her. The memories still hurt, like unexpected shards of broken glass hiding in the carpet fibers, waiting to cut deep.

All these years later and Renee had been the only woman he ever loved. Add to that the time with his daughter, everything he missed… From the age of one to seventeen, he'd only seen Bella for two weeks a year. It had never been enough. It would never be enough. Those years were gone, and his baby had learned to walk, talk, ride a bike, and everything in between without him.

Charlie slammed the empty tumbler of whiskey down on the table with a little more force than he'd intended. He licked his lips. They were numb.

What was it about having so much alcohol in his system that made it possible for him to feel every day, every month, every year he'd spent alone here? He'd bought this house for his family, and his wife had hated it. Bella had hated it too; As soon as she was old enough she begged him to take her to California instead.

His house, and when he was this low, he often thought he'd die here one day alone.

The sound of a door opening upstairs broke through his clouded thoughts. Not so alone after all, he reminded himself. At least for now.

He listened for a moment and heard Alice's light step on the stairs. He sat up straight and coughed into his hand, trying to clear his head. When she appeared in the doorway he attempted a smile. From the way she cocked her head and stared at him, he didn't succeed.

Alice walked over to the kitchen cabinet. "How many have you had?"

"Uh, just the one," Charlie said, clearing his throat.

Alice looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

"Two. And a half," Charlie amended.

She took two tumblers down, filled them with ice, and put them in front of Charlie as she sat down across from him. "Well, sounds like my kind of party, and I have to catch up."

That had a sobering effect. Charlie raised his eyes to hers. She was staring back with a straight face devoid of any trace of mirth. She looked tired and much older than her…

"Oh, hell. It's your birthday," he said, realizing it was past midnight.

She smiled. It made her look even more tired. "And my anniversary."

He filled both of her tumblers and topped off his. She downed the first one without stopping and Charlie gaped.

"What?" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I, uh… nothing."

She lifted the second tumbler and drank at a more reserved pace. When she set it down, half the drink was gone. She sat back, smacking her lips. Charlie sipped at his own drink and waited. It was a heavy silence but not uncomfortable.

Alice closed her eyes and let out her breath in a long, slow gust. "He would have already woken me up. Actually, he probably would have said happy birthday at nine because it was already midnight in New York. He would have kissed me senseless at nine on the dot."

She downed the last of her second glass and poured herself a third. "So what's your excuse?" she asked.

"It's… It's nothing. Nothing I should be complaining about in front of you."

Again, she arched a single eyebrow, her dull eyes fixed on him. "Don't do that. I haven't cornered the market on pain. My fucked up life doesn't negate yours. I don't care how insignificant it is; it's important because it affects you." She punctuates her mild tirade by taking a pull of whiskey. "Now tell."

He was just drunk enough to be honest. "A lot of people in this town think I'm another deadbeat dad who was relieved to get out of parenting. Otherwise I would have fought for Bella, right? Or gone after Renee?" He sipped his whiskey and let the burn eat away at the lump in his throat. "My parents were sick. Both of them. Dying sick. They needed a lot of care, and I'm an only child."

This time both of her eyebrows shot up. "Renee left you and took your baby while both of your parents were dying?"

"Yeah. She did at that."

Alice made a face as though she'd bitten into rancid meat. "What an asshole."

Charlie opened his mouth to defend Renee as he always did. After all these years, he understood why Renee left. It had been the right decision for her and most days, he couldn't begrudge her that. Most days.

Tonight he snapped his mouth shut and nodded. "Yeah," he said in agreement, and he took another drink.

Alice took another long drink and set it down. She tilted the glass back and forth between her palms and looked at the tabletop, her shoulders slumped. "When I woke up tonight, alone, I wanted him here with me so badly. Of course I did. But…"

"But," he prompted when she didn't continue.

With her eyes closed, she took a long drink, set it down, and breathed deeply, her mouth open, her lips shining from the alcohol. "Tonight, just for a second, instead of wishing it was him, I wished _someone _was there with me. I miss the touches. I _want _to be touched again. I want to wake up in someone's arms. and I know it can't be him. It can never be him, and I still want it." She covered her face with her hands. "It's terrible."

"It's hope," he said, only too familiar with that sense of longing.

"Hope feels terrible."

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. I get that too." He paused long enough to finish his third drink. "It's not, though. Terrible to hope. It's terrible that he didn't live, but it's not terrible that you did."

Her sigh was heavy. Charlie had no idea what to say. It didn't help that he'd gotten to that point where he could hear the beat of his heart between his ears. It made it hard to concentrate. This was far too deep a conversation to have when he'd drunk as much as he did.

Before he could say anything, Alice giggled. It was such an incongruous sound, Charlie looked up too quickly. He regretted it. He put his hand to his forehead, trying to stop the spinning. "What?" he asked at her continued mirth.

"I'm sorry. It's just the look on your face." She furrowed her brow and stuck out her lower lip in imitation of what Charlie thought looked more like a confused baboon.

He made an effort to suck in his lip. "I'm not making that face."

"You so are." She made the face again, worse this time.

"Oh, come on. I think you're exaggerating."

But Charlie couldn't be too perturbed. The tense atmosphere had broken, and good-humored drunkenness took over. They both slipped into lighter conversation with their typical ease. They sipped at their drinks, but the damage was done. Eventually, their conversation devolved into nonsensical ridiculousness.

"Charlie," Alice said between titters. "We are so very drunk."

"That's an astute observation if ever I heard one." He pushed to his feet and found himself much more unsteady than he had been even a half hour before. He slapped his palms down on the table, trying to gauge how well he could stand upright. "We should, uh…" He snapped his fingers. Simple words escaped him. "Lie down."

"Oh, yes. Lying down sounds fabulous." Alice got to her feet, or she tried to, anyway. She swayed in place. "Whoa."

Charlie was quick to move to her side, intent on keeping her upright. The problem with that plan was he was anything but steady. They ended up clinging to each other for dear life, their feet shuffling and hands gripping shirts and arms until they were relatively stable. They looked at each other and laughed.

"Come on," Charlie said, wrapping his arm around her waist. She put her arm around his torso, and they headed out of the kitchen, headed for the stairs.

When they reached the bottom, Charlie paused. As a cop, he was trained to be analytical. He looked up the stairs and considered how many times he'd stumbled in the short walk from the kitchen. He glanced at Alice who looked back at him, shaking her head and grinning. "You know, we're all going to die someday, but I'd prefer not to be in the running for a Darwin Award."

"Couch?" he asked.

"Couch."

It didn't occur to Charlie to let her go as they stumbled to the living room. The fact they were still connected didn't strike him as problematic until he'd sat, pulling her down beside him. He blinked, befuddled as to what he was supposed to do next. Technically Alice would fit better on the loveseat, but it seemed like a rude thing to suggest.

Before he could work out his next move, Alice splayed her hands on his chest and pushed gently. It was the most natural thing in the world to lay back, bring her horizontal with him. Her weight was solid and warm-nice. They shifted until they found a comfortable position. Charlie pressed his back against the couch and Alice tucked herself tight against his side, facing him. There wasn't an inch of breathing room between them.

The dizzy spin of his head wasn't nearly as bad when his eyes were focused on her pretty face.

Alice sighed. "Tomorrow...today is going to suck."

He rubbed her back. "I know."

She raised her hand and traced the shape of his moustache, smoothing it out. The act brought her small smile back. "Tonight didn't suck as much as it should have." She brushed his cheek with her lips. "Thanks, Charlie."

He huffed. "Thank Mr. Jameson. Every once in a while, he makes things a little easier," he murmured.

She hummed. Her eyelashes fluttered. "Thanks, Mr. Jameson." Her words ran together. Sleep was taking her quickly.

Sure enough, only a few moments later her eyes closed and her breath evened out. He was tired too. Beyond tired. Drunken tired. His eyelids were made of ten pound weights, but he struggled to keep them open just a few minutes longer.

This was nice. This wasn't the way these kinds of nights ended for him. He raised a tentative hand. His fingers hovered over her skin.

He couldn't ignore that this was more than just nice. It had to be his imagination, but he would swear his cheek tingled where she'd kissed him. He liked the way her body fit against him. He liked that she seemed peaceful and content in his arms. He liked it much more than he should.

He cupped her cheek with the lightest of touches. She responded in an instant, even in her sleep. She tilted her head, a soft whimper on her lips. He drew his fingers down and dropped his hand, resting it lightly on her side.

What was happening here?

Tonight was simple enough to explain. His loneliness was always amplified when he drank. She'd said she missed being touched. That was all there was to it.

He let his eyes close.

_**~0~**_

Alice's birthday was never going to be a good day.

It had taken a bit of convincing on Esme's part to get Alice to agree to a get together at all. Personally, Charlie was on Alice's side. Maybe it was a little selfish. When she attempted to shoot down her mother's plan, Esme was clearly hurt. Alice's family and friends wanted to celebrate her. To say no would disappoint the people who loved her.

In Charlie's estimation, birthdays should have been the one day a year it was okay to be unequivocally selfish, but Alice acquiesced.

She spent the late morning and early afternoon at the cemetery, alone by request. Later that afternoon everyone gathered at the Cullen house. All Alice's foster-family was there along with Rosalie, Emmett's fiance, Bella, and Charlie.

It was one of those quietly miserable affairs where everyone smiled pretty and pretended they were having a good time. No one was trying as hard as Alice. She was trying so hard to be the bubbly, bright person her family missed.

Maybe it was chance, but Charlie always caught it when she ducked out of sight into a quiet room. He saw the way she slumped against the wall as though standing upright was too much. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, steeling herself before she went out to face her family again.

He was tired just watching her.

When day edged into night, Charlie offered up an out. "I think I'm calling it a night."

Alice jumped to pick up the line he threw out. "You know, I've had a little too much to drink. I have work tomorrow. I think I'll ride back with Charlie." She looked at him. "If that's okay."

There was a general cry of displeasure, but the family seemed to recognize Alice needed a break. They helped her take her gifts to Charlie's truck. She was hugged and kissed and reminded she was loved.

"You know you can stay, don't you?" Charlie heard Carlisle ask.

"We'd love to have you back home," Esme said.

Alice hugged them both tightly. "I know. I can't. Not yet."

She was quiet on the drive home. Charlie was somewhat surprised when, instead of heading up to her room as he expected, she sat in the living room.

Charlie poured them both a drink-just enough to take the edge off. He didn't want to start a bad habit. He walked back to the living room, sitting across from her on the loveseat. She huffed when he handed her the drink.

"Thank you, Mr. Jameson," she said and she tossed the whole thing back. She rested her head on the back of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, quiet for another handful of minutes before she finally found her voice again. "Charlie?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm not overstaying my welcome, am I?"

"What?"

"I've been here for months." Her voice shook the slightest bit. "It's not right."

"It's not wrong. You're fine, Alice."

She gave a short laugh. "I'm not. I'm trying, but I'm not." She didn't sound upset, just tired.

Charlie stared down at his drink. "It's supposed to get better."

"It is. Sometimes it's so much better." Her lower lip trembled, and she closed her eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek. She wasn't crying. Not really. "Sometimes that's even worse.

"You're right. I know you're right. It does get better. And that's half the problem. It gets better, and that makes it so much worse. My mother died, but that got better. My dad and my stepmother… they were good to me for a while. Then they weren't, but _that _got better. They gave me Cynthia. I have a baby sister named Cynthia. Did you know that? God, I loved her. She was such a sweet baby, and she loved me. Then I remembered what my father did, and it got bad again, and Cynthia wasn't allowed to love me.

"But then the Cullens took me. And then there was Jasper." Her voice broke and another tear fell down her cheek. "It got better than better. It got so, so good." She raised her head to look at him. "So what happens if it does get better again?" Her breath hitched. "I don't want to know what I lose next time."

Charlie moved to sit beside her on the couch. He didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. He only lifted his arm, and Alice scooted under it. She laid her head on his chest. He wrapped his arm tight around her, and they sat in silence until her breaths evened out again.

She sniffled and picked up the hand he'd rested on his lap. She played with his fingers as she spoke again. "It's hard, you know, and it's all the stupid things. Like today. I mean, I know they were trying to be discreet, but they're young and in love."

"Who's that?"

"Edward and Bella. They tried to keep it on the D.L. but I saw them sneak away to make out." She looked up at him with a grimace. "Sorry, Charlie."

Charlie chuffed. "My daughter is staying with your brother instead of here at her home. I'm a cop, not an idiot. I know what that means."

She smiled and laid her head back on his chest. For a few more minutes there was only the feel of her soft fingers bending and flexing his. Then she stroked along his pointer finger. Slowly, her hand moved down until they were palm to palm. Slowly, she twined their fingers together.

Charlie was a steady kind of man. He believed in ration and order. He believed in fact and truth.

The fact was he wanted nothing more than to tell this wounded woman that she'd reached her quota of suffering and the rest of her life was coming up roses. The truth was anything could still happen to her. She could, she likely would, find new ways to hurt.

Alice's hand went slack in his and her breath felt hot and even against his neck. It was the second night in a row-dangerously close to habit.

There was another fact. Alice stirred something in him he didn't want to explain. It wasn't rational or orderly, but it was there. That was the truth. For as little good as it would do either of them, it existed.

He lingered as long as he could without thinking, then he got carefully to his feet, lifting her with him. She stirred with a gasp, and her arms went around his neck. "Don't wake up," he whispered. "I got you."

She blinked at him in the dim light and closed her eyes again, trusting he would take care of her.

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**A/N: Many thanks to baburella and my lovely jessypt.**

**And you guys. You guys make me happy. **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Not the easiest chapter, I'd imagine. *holds your hand***

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The week after Alice's birthday went from bad to worse. Charlie had always known it would. Everyone had known that. He'd discussed it with Carlisle and Esme, but what could he do? What could any of them do but wait?

Five days after Alice's birthday was Jasper's birthday. This time, there was no taking anyone else's feelings into consideration. She was already awake when Charlie left for work, and she hadn't acknowledged him further than a nod when he said good morning. Esme reported later that to the best of her knowledge, Alice spent the entire day at the cemetery. When Esme and Carlisle showed up to pay their respects, she gave them about twenty minutes-during which she spoke not a word-before she asked them to please just leave.

After that she had good and bad days. Some days she could smile and joke. Other days her eyes were haunted, and he was lucky to get two or three words out of her at a time. She let Emmett take her out to dinner one night, but turned Carlisle down a few days later. The kitchen was finished, and she talked to Charlie about starting another project. The garage was high on her list, but even after he agreed, she didn't throw herself headlong into the project like she had before. She started lists of supplies but never finished them. She would talk about going to Seattle or Port Angeles on the weekend, but then she would sleep until the afternoon. More than once he heard her rescheduling a client because she had never made it out of bed that day.

She functioned. She survived. She continuously refused anyone's offer to talk.

What could they do?

Weeks passed in a strange limbo, and Alice again was a ghost in his house.

Then, one night, everything changed.

Charlie had dozed off in front of the T.V. so he was groggy when he woke and dragged himself to his feet. He cocked an ear and listened. It had become his habit to check on Alice by whatever means necessary. More often than not these days, it meant listening to hear her walking around in her room.

The house was silent, and he hoped that meant she was getting some sleep.

He got up, stretched, and headed for his own room, his own bed. When he got to the top of the stairs, Charlie hesitated. He looked at Alice's closed bedroom door and the faint light that shone beneath it, thinking about the merits of knocking. It was late, for one thing, and for another, she'd made it clear repeatedly how much she didn't want to be bothered. He started to turn away. Stopped. Stared at the wood again as though he could make it open with sheer willpower alone.

There was something to be said about cops and hunches. It was an unnamed, uncommon emotion. It was a paranoia that made his skin crawl and his stomach twist, an uneasiness that made his heart race. It was the voice in his head that said screw privacy; something was wrong.

It didn't take a psychiatrist to diagnose her with depression. It didn't take a genius to understand the weight of everything that had happened to her. She'd said herself before, she already knew it would get better, that she could survive. Surviving and thriving meant she could lose even more the next time around. After the devastation she'd been through, he wouldn't have blamed her if she ended it, but that didn't mean he was going to sit by and let it happen either.

Charlie knocked on her door. "Alice?" There wasn't any answer, and Charlie's heart pounded hard enough he heard it between his ears. He knocked again-a policeman's knock. "Alice." He waited. No answer. "Alice, I'm coming in to check on you."

The room was dark save for a small bedside lamp, but he saw her right away. She was sitting on the floor, back against the bed. Her head was tilted backward, resting on the mattress. But what made Charlie run to her side was the fact her thigh was streaked with rivulets of blood.

As he dropped to his knees at her side, he got the whole picture. She was wearing short shorts so her wound-wounds-were easily visible. There were three of them. Three neat, straight lines, and even without seeing the collection of faded scars that littered her legs, he understood with certainty exactly what had happened. Sure enough, she still held a bloody razorblade in one trembling hand.

"Alice," he said, his voice soft and calm, completely belying the horror he felt. He was sickened, not by her actions but by the strength of her pain. "Alice." Her eyes were unfocused and her face was tear streaked but her expression was calm. Eerily calm. Her breaths were shallow. Charlie took her face in his hands. He couldn't smell alcohol on her breath. "Alice, look at me. I need you to tell me if you took anything."

Slowly, achingly slowly, her eyes found his. She blinked.

"Did you take anything?" he asked again.

She sniffled and shook her head minutely.

"Okay. That's good." He brushed her hair back, the motion tender. She was in a daze, and he understood that place only too well. "That's really good, sweetheart. We're going to get you cleaned up, okay?"

Alice didn't answer, but Charlie didn't expect her too. He brushed his hand down her arm and took the razor from her fingers. Her eyes followed it, and he understood that too-how fascinating it could be to see the way blood stained metal and skin. He set the blade on the nightstand and lifted her. She sagged against him, as though she didn't have the energy to keep herself upright, but she looped her arms around his neck.

He carried her to the bathroom and set her on the counter. Inside he was in turmoil, but his hands were steady as he wiped the blood from her leg. The wounds were deep. Not deep enough to stitch, but they would scar. What broke his heart the most were the old scars, the marks that had once looked exactly like the red, raw wounds. He looked at them and wondered when and why.

Alice's life story was written on her skin, her pain carved into her flesh. Each of the marks-and there were so many, too many-was a souvenir of a time when the pain of a razor flaying open her skin was the only distraction from the pain she felt in the depths of her soul. Physical pain was so much easier to cope with than wounds of the heart.

"You can tell me I'm a freak." Charlie's heart skipped a beat when she spoke, breaking the long, heavy silence between them. Her voice was thin-a barely there whisper. "I know I'm a freak."

He lifted his eyes to hers briefly. They were focused but dull-lifeless and defeated. He looked back down to her leg, patting it dry, watching the blood well up fresh from the cuts. "Why would I do something like that?"

"My stepmother used to tell me that."

"Yeah, well. Your stepmother is a bitch." He wrapped one arm around her and hugged her as he pressed the ran the peroxide-laden cottonball over the fresh wound. Hugging her seemed like the right thing to do. There was obviously something wrong, and the peroxide had to sting like a sonovabitch; she deserved a little comfort. She hissed in pain and turned her face against his chest. He noticed too late he was brushing his fingers along her side. He would have stopped, but he felt the tension drain from her shoulders.

She sniffled. "I did it all to myself, you know. All of that." She lifted her head and pulled the sleeve of her shirt up to reveal the scars hidden there. "All of this."

Charlie didn't say anything at first, concentrating instead on selecting the right sized bandage and covering up the angry red marks. Eventually, though, even that was done, and an admission balanced on the tip of his tongue. He hesitated. He had a secret. He had a secret that had the potential of making her feel like less of a freak, but what would that secret cost him? His throat was tight and a thrill of fear made his hair stand on end, but the aura of defeat that radiated from Alice made his decision for him. He cleared his throat and stepped away from her. She kept staring down at the the floor, her shoulders slumped down even further, but she finally raised her eyes when she heard the rustle of his shirt coming off. Breathing hard, he turned to the side so she could see.

The scars on his shoulders weren't nearly as vivid as hers. They were old. Very old. She gasped, and then it was him who couldn't lift his eyes from the floor. He'd never shown anybody these scars before. The few times he'd been with a woman, he'd kept his shirt on.

When he felt the brush of her fingertips against his shoulder, he started. Ugly was an emotion, and when Charlie even thought of those scars, it was all he could feel. So the idea anyone could touch them, touch him, was a shock. It was like watching someone lovingly pet a slug.

And there was something loving about the way her fingertips skimmed across his skin. There was a reverence there, a tenderness. Her eyes, no longer quite so dull, were warm with empathy. She traced the scars one by one. "Why?" she asked with the same note of quiet despair with which someone might ask why there were homeless people or abandoned puppies.

Why did bad things happen to good people?

Charlie found it difficult to speak around the lump in his throat. It was painful to swallow, but after a few tries he managed it. "My wife had left me. I knew I was going to miss all the important moments in my daughter's life, that I was going to seem like a deadbeat dad to her. I thought it was inevitable that Bella would hate me. My parents were dying, and I was a disappointment to them." He shrugged. "It was the only thing that made sense then."

The words sounded stupid, and he felt stupid for feeling so damn sorry for himself. He was the kind of man who believed he was in charge of his own destiny, and that happiness was a choice. And though he never would have thought of her as pathetic for taking the same route, he felt pathetic.

Alice sat up straighter and pressed her lips to his shoulder, to his scars. He felt the hot splash of a tear against his skin. She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him, and he let his hand curl around her. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he closed his eyes, breathing easier for the first time in minutes.

After a few quiet moments, he propped his finger beneath her chin to tilt her head up. His intention was to ask her if she could sleep now, but the words died on his lips when their eyes met.

Maybe it struck him right then that he had never been so naked in front of another human being before. He had let her see something no one else ever had, and she hadn't rejected him. More than that, she'd understood. He'd given her that piece of himself so she wouldn't feel alone and only then realized it meant he wasn't alone either. If she was a freak, they were freaks together.

Maybe it was that moment of profound connection, or maybe it was the light he saw in her eyes. It was dim and distant, but it was there again, alive and warm. Maybe it was the way she looked at him or maybe it was the way the brush of her fingers along his bare back sent shivers down his spine.

Whatever the explanation, the fact of the matter was in that instant, something changed, and it was so tangible Charlie felt it happen. It wasn't a thought; it was a knowledge.

The first kiss was a surprise. In retrospect, he would never know which of them moved first. All he knew was one second he was looking at her, taking in her beauty and strength and pain, and the next his eyes were closed and the feel of her was all he knew. Her lips were soft, her taste salty from too many tears. He pulled back, but only for an instant before they were kissing again. He made no conscious decision to do it. It was as though he drew her in as he drew in a new breath. Her hands pressed against his back, pushing him closer, and he moved his fingers from her chin to cup around the back of her neck.

They kissed slowly, as though neither quite knew what was going on, if this was really happening, but firm because whatever was happening, this was good. Better than feeling good, it felt right, and when things had been so wrong for so long, right was a giddy relief. Charlie was greedy for it, and he took what he could. Her tongue pressed against his lips, and he opened himself to her kiss, let their tongues press and stroke.

He hardly realized he'd pulled her off the counter until her legs were wrapped around him, her weight in his arms.

Eventually thought caught up with him. There was a lot he could have done then. There was a lot he wanted to do and too much to think about. He sighed when their lips parted, and she whimpered. For a minute, they breathed. Charlie pressed soft kisses to her chin and Alice scratched her fingers through his hair. She brushed her lips once again with his and broke the silence. "Stay with me tonight. Please. I just want to be warm tonight."

He nodded, and with her still wrapped around him, he took her not to her room but to his. He wrapped the blankets around them and cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her lips. She slotted her leg between his, seeking, as she'd asked, warmth. Comfort. She kissed him once, tucked her head under his chin, and fell asleep.

Charlie, for once not wanting to think at all if only for a few hours, promptly followed her.

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**A/N: Thanks to barburella and many, many, many thanks to jessypt and her flails. Her flails make my life.**

**How are we out there, friends?**


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